


The Warmth of His Touch

by matrixrefugee



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-14 22:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18485233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matrixrefugee/pseuds/matrixrefugee
Summary: Jack's attentions to Angelo are discreet but incorrigible





	The Warmth of His Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for < lj user="love_bingo">'s "holding hands". Featuring Jack Harkness and Angelo Colasanto, as well as the family of their landlady.

Most evenings, Nonna Giordano went through the ritual of insisting that the boarders join the family for dinner. And with a doting but strict grandma's concern, she would inspect their hands, making sure they were clean. "No filthy hands at my clean table," she said, scolding but with a smile. She tutted over the scars on Angelo's knuckles. "Fighting again?" she asked.

"Only in self-defense," Angelo said. "There were thieves trying to steal from us when we were helping Father Timothy, bringing food to the Widow Costello." Only partly true: he and Jack had gotten into a tangle with some rival bootleggers, but that had happened as the two of them were transporting bootleg wine to sell in order to help support the families who needed assistance from the parish.

"Tell her, if she thinks your hands look bad, she should see the other guy's, after you were done with him," Jack teased. He barely had the most rudimentary grasp of Italian, but he knew a motherly scold when he saw one. Angelo smirked and relayed the quip, which earned Jack a mock scowl from the older woman, her eyes snapping as she clucked in disapproval before proceeding to inspect Jack's broad, long-fingered hands.

"Palms as soft as a girl's," she said, disapproving a bit but puzzled as well. To Angelo, she added, "How does he do it? And with hands like that, how can he protect you, eh?"

"He has his own ways: he talks circles around people," Angelo said, though he had seen Jack hold his own in a fight and come away without a single scratch on him.

"Hmm, fine looks and fine words will charm a girl, but does he charm these thieves that attacked you?" Nonna Giordano asked, not convinced in the least.

"Sometimes he steals from them, makes them look stupid and clumsy," Angelo said, reaching for a clean towel.

"Is she questioning my skills again?" Jack twitted, amused with the gist of the conversation, even though he barely understood the lingo.

Later, after dinner, as Nonna Giordano and her son and daughter in law were clearing the table and Papa Giordano and the rest of the menfolk were chatting over their coffee, Angelo would feel Jack's hand move under the table, straying into his lap, resting companionably on his thigh. He would move it aside with care, trying not to betray any movement or show any reaction to this touch. For a moment or two, Jack would let well enough alone. But in time, as the men argued about the up coming elections or how the latest Yankees game against Boston could have turned out better, Jack would make another move, his hand sliding over Angelo's thigh, finding the inside of it and gently stroking his trouser leg. And again, Angelo would push his hand away, careful not to seem as though he rejected the man's advances.

On the third try, Jack's hand found Angelo's, his long fingers twining with the younger man's; Angelo would gently close his hand on Jack's, fingers enmeshed, palm pressed to the other's palm, warm and gentle. And as luck would have it, Nonna Giordano would pass by the table, glancing down, noting this gesture. Perhaps she would raise an eyebrow, perhaps she would smile, that mysterious little smile like the woman in the Leonardo print in the hallway. But she would move on, keeping their secret for them, her smile an unspoken promise of security.


End file.
